


Clothes Make the Man

by junko



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: It's just another day in Fuu's life... of course, ever since meeting Mugen and Jin, those days are always extraordinary.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Clothes Make the Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikarusonesun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikarusonesun/gifts).



Even though Mugen’s stomach growled the loudest, Fuu was the first to say it: “Ah, I’m sooooo hungry!”

They’d spent the last of their money on last night’s lodgings. Breakfast had not been included. Fuu thought that it normally would’ve been, but it was clear that the innkeeper had had enough of Mugen and Jin’s glowering presence and had shooed them on their way almost as soon as dawn broke over the horizon. It didn’t seem fair. They hadn’t broken hardly anything this time! It was only a small hole in the roof!! Fuu was sure they’d caught all the chickens, except for that one, who, frankly, deserved her fate.

Jin’s stomach growled next--a quieter, more restrained sound, but still noticeable.

“I can’t go on,” Fuu complained, dragging her feet. “So hungry.”

“I could kill a chicken,” Mugen muttered.

“I believe you did,” Jin noted dryly.

“Huh?” Mugen dug something out of his ear and inspected it with a scowl. “What are you yammering about? I’m saying I’d kill for something to eat!”

Fuu sometimes thought their lives must be charmed or cursed or maybe that they lived in some kind of strange storybook because destiny always seemed to be waiting on a cue. No sooner had Mugen spoken those fateful words than a voice came from behind the wide trunk of an ancient, gnarled oak tree.

“Would you? Would you really? As it happens, I’m in need of a murder....”

Into the narrow woodland path stepped an old woman. For someone who just confessed to wanting someone violently dead, she had a kindly face. She didn’t look particularly rich to Fuu, no silks or fancy kimono, just a plain yukata… though hers was far cleaner and well-maintained than anything any of them were wearing. Pure white hair was pulled back in a simple bun, though the early morning sunlight reflected on the emerald jewels that dripped from her hairpins.

So… she had some money….

And if Fuu noticed the pins, she was certain the guys would, too.

Fuu expected that Mugen, in particular, would be up for any job involving mayhem and destruction. That seemed to be his middle name, after all.

Thus, Fuu was shocked when Mugen walked right past the old woman, not even slowing at all, his face screwed up into his disinterested/bored pout. Jin passed on the old woman’s other side, with little more than a little nod of acknowledgement of her presence. That left Fuu, confused, and standing face-to-face with this stranger on the road.

She wasn’t quite sure what she should say, especially since the old woman looked so… devastated.

“I… guess we’re not for hire?” Fuu said uncertainly. Leaning around the old woman, she called out, “Hey, aren’t we always up for a job?” Then, cupping her hand, she tried to whisper/shout, “Pretty sure this lady has money! Money we could use, you know, for food!”

“Oi! Do I look like a hired killer?” Mugen screeched.

“Yes?” Fuu and the old woman said simultaneously. Fuu thought Mugen looked especially like a killer with those tattoos and wild, yet somehow matted hair. Jin… well, Jin just looked dangerous, deadly. Fuu and the old woman shared a knowing glance and a nodding shrug, as if to say ‘totally killers.’

Jin paused on the dirt path, turned his head just slightly, giving his most disapproving side glance. His glasses glinted in the sun. “Murder is punishable by death by boiling.”

“Or exile to a penal island! Just sayin’.” Mugen added from further up the road, where he walked with his arms tucked behind his head. His face tipped to the sky as he snarled. “That’s worth more than a fucking chicken! A lot more!”

Jin dipped his head in agreement. “We are not assassins, o-baa-san. You would be better served by ninja.”

“But it’s a ninja I need killed!” the old woman pleaded desperately.

Of course _that_ was what made Mugen and Jin turn around.

#

Ten minutes later, as they gobbled bowls of the most delicious soy-grilled salmon and rice Fuu had ever had in her entire life, the old woman told her story. She introduced herself as Takeuchi Yua. Her son had recently been murdered. Everyone assumed ninja had been involved because there were whispers of the word ‘assassination’ and someone, somehow had slipped into her son’s heavily fortified home while he was surrounded by dozens of bodyguards.

“Bodyguards?” Mugen squinted at the plain wooden rafters. “You don’t look that rich.”

Yua made a little sad sound and shook her head. “We aren’t any more. My son was a merchant. Tea… our farm is nothing but ashes now. This humble home is all I have left. I lost everything to the fire.”

Jin’s chopsticks paused half way to his mouth. He slowly lowered them, his eyes narrowing in concern or suspicion. “Ninja burned your crops?”

_Yeah, that didn’t seem very sneaky_ , Fuu thought. _Ninja were supposed to be sneaky._

Yua coughed in that way people did when they were caught out in a lie. It was more of an excuse to briefly turn her face away. When she turned back to face them, the old woman had a little trouble meeting Jin’s steady gaze. “The local daimyō’s men swept in after my son was found dead. He claimed the property for himself--all of it, including my daughter-in-law. In a rage, he had it burned… with her trapped inside.”

“Ugh!” Mugen flopped backwards to sprawl on the tatami mat and patted his stomach. “Sounds complicated. I’m out.”

Jin nodded, setting his bowl down regretfully as if he suddenly couldn’t allow himself to take further advantage of this old woman’s hospitality.

Fuu was confused, but she followed Jin’s lead and set the bowl down. Her face crumpled; there was salmon left! “We’re not taking the job?” she looked between the two men, “What’s the problem?”

Jin got to his feet in that seamless, liquid way he had, sliding his swords back into place with practiced ease. “Politics.”

“We can’t go murdering the local authorities,” Mugen said with a loud belch as he rolled to his feet in that insanely athletic way he had. “That’s how you end up on the wrong side of the shogun, and that’s like boiling, crucifixion, and decapitation all at once. Not how I want to go; you?”

No, of course not! Fuu shook her head and pulled herself upright far more clumsily. She stared sadly at the food they were leaving behind. Maybe they could at least hear the old woman out. Maybe there could be dessert while she talked! Fuu thought she’d spied some dried persimmons through the open door to the kitchen. Who knew what else she might have to eat!? “But, we haven’t heard the whole story! We don't know what he did to deserve it.”

The old woman grasped at Fuu’s sleeve with a gnarled hand. “My boy did nothing wrong,” she said, her voice wavering with restrained tears. “Nothing at all! He was a good man! Honorable! He was kind of everyone. My son was murdered because they didn’t like what he was wearing.”

Mugen and Jin had almost made it to the door. They stopped at the threshold and shared a glance. Together, they turned to explain to Fuu: “Silk.”

That wasn’t much of an explanation. In fact, it made no sense at all. Fuu gave them both a wide-eyed, “Huh?” 

“Sumptuary laws,” Jin said, as if that explained everything. 

He turned as if to go, but Mugen slapped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. The thump echoed in the open living room.

“You walking away from avenging a good guy who got struck down for being too flashy?”

Fuu held her breath. It was clear what was unspoken. Mugen and Jin continued to play the part of rivals who hated each other, but it’d been months on the road now. And, there was that one street killer, the one who could kill with his chi, and that moment--so much like this one--where she’d had to say something without saying anything at all. Even Jin had spoken that night, albeit to say he was going to be the guy to kill Mugen.

Thinking about it all now, that was kind of a dumb way to express friendship, but, well, with these two idiots, you had to take what you could get.

At any rate, it was obvious, Mugen was the flashy one. Was he seeing a version of himself in this story?

Jin turned to regard Mugen for a long time, squinting thoughtfully through his glasses, his face otherwise its usual unreadable mask. Finally, he nodded. To the old woman, he said, “But, to be clear, we are not expected to kill the local lord, only his hired assassin.”

That should have been a question, but the way Jin said it, it was clear that those were the terms of the deal. The old woman’s face grew determined and she nodded. “That will do.”

“Great!” Muken said releasing Jin’s shoulder to break into a bone-popping yawn. “We’re bunking down here, right? Because I could use a nap first.”

Fuu smiled. Maybe she’d get dessert after all. With luck, there might even be a bath!

#

That afternoon, while Mugen and Jin did reconnaissance, Fuu had agreed to help the old woman with her laundry chores, and so they’d taken buckets and sentaku-ita boards to a nearby small creek. There, by the banks, up to their arms in soap suds, Fuu finally learned about the sumptuary laws.

It all came down to sex, of course.

Apparently, there was an unfortunate incident between the wife of a merchant and the fifth shogun, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. The woman in question was so lavishly dressed when she and her merchant husband visited the shogun in Ueno, Tokugawa was smitten and inquired after her. Discovering she was the wife of a mere merchant and not his for the taking, he flew into a rage. As a punishment for being unavailable and ‘living above their station’ all their property was seized.

After that, everyone paid the price.

Everyone.

Women _and_ men.

Hundreds of edicts had been passed in bewildering profusion in order to attempt to maintain a kind of class dress code. Silks--and particularly brightly colored ones--belonged only to nobles and samurai. Details of dress were proscribed in the minutest detail, such as no silver leaf applique on courtesan’s clothes and no gold clasps on tobacco pouches.

Yua’s son had gotten into trouble because most people thought of these rules as nothing more than ‘three day laws.’ You get a stern talking to by the local magistrate and you bowed and scraped and spent a few days obeying the letter of the law… and then, eventually, you went back to wearing what you wanted. People also found clever ways to wear fancy linings on clothes with drab exteriors. It was mostly an annoyance and people found workarounds.

Except the local lord was a stickler.

Everyone figured he was so strict because he’d squandered the family fortune to the point that there were rumors he might have to start selling off his lands in order to pay the creditors.

He had fine silks, sure, but some were worn and patched in places.

Yua’s son, meanwhile, was making hand over fist trading in teas and his own, small farm. He could afford anything, everything! The lord was jealous, plain and simple. He did not like Yua’s son walking around in clothes far, far nicer than his own. Yua said that she figured that everything came to a head when her son, thinking he was doing a kindness, loaned some of his wife’s clothes to the lord’s daughter. 

That was when they had their first clash.

Yua’s son’s bodyguards had rebuffed the lord, adding further injury to his pride.

The next day Yua’s son was found dead. No one could say who did it, or how.

Fuu frowned as she scrubbed at a particularly difficult stain, “But, why didn’t the lord just order him killed?”

“He couldn’t,” Yua said, rinsing out the shitage she was washing. “He has no money for retainers. My son has ten times the bodyguards he did.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Maybe. “How much does it cost to hire a ninja?”

Yua gave Fuu a little pitying look. “You don’t hire ninja, dearie. They work for political favors.”

Something about this made Fuu very nervous. 

#

In fact, the thought of a lord with enough political clout that he could trade in influence bothered Fuu all the way back to the old woman’s house. She was considering how to make her excuses and go tell the guys that their instincts were right, this was a _bad_ job, when she was jumped. 

Someone grabbed her arms, pinning her. Mugen must have been rubbing off on her, because Fuu was perversely pleased that she managed to bite someone else before they dropped a flour sack over her head.

_Dozens of bodyguards._

Apparently, the old woman hadn’t lost everything to the fire, after all.

Fuu should have known she’d end up taken hostage.

#

Fuu also should have known that Mugen would smell the double-cross and have some plan or other for escape. He never seemed like the bright one of the bunch, but Mugen was always the first to sense treachery.

#

The old woman’s bodyguards had unceremoniously dumped Fuu into an upstairs storage space. Since then, Fuu’d propped herself up against one of the wooden crates and had been spending the last few hours working on using friction and the rough edge of the box to loosen the ropes that held her hands behind her back. 

Momo helped, too, gnawing where it could and proving he was more than just an adorable flying squirrel.

Mugen’s voice right above her head almost startled a yelp out of Fuu, but the three of them had been through this sort of disastrous encounter enough that she was able to quickly stifle the impulse.

“That old hag thinks she can change the deal on us,” he snarled. From where the sound of his voice was coming from, Fuu figured he must be hanging down over the roof tiles. In the darkness, she could almost make out the spiky silhouette of his head. “Che! I told you this was stupid.”

Now wait a minute! This one wasn’t on her… well, not entirely. Fuu’s face scrunched up, but she gave him a point. “Fine! Fine! I always fall for the sob stories! You did, too, though! You were feeling like her son could have been you! You’re the one who talked Jin into it by making us all think the kid could be you in another life!”

“Hey! Did not! Do I strike you as a guy who struts around flaunting himself!?”

_Obviously._

Though, to be fair to Mugen, Fuu had met worse. Like that guy in Edo who thought he was the big deal. And told everybody. All the time.

At least, unlike that guy, Mugen could back up his claims.

Fuu fumed silently. She wasn’t going to tell him that, though. It would just go to his head.

“Anyways,” Mugen continued at a more subdued volume, after a check over his shoulder to see if their outburst was overheard. “Jin and me are gonna go pretend you’re important enough to us that we’re willing to kill that lord to get you back. Nobody is guarding the roof, you catch my drift? I already took out the three guys watching from the outside. Give us twenty minutes head start, you dig? We’ll meet you by that abandoned mill down the road, remember the one?”

Fuu nodded, she did. It had moss on the timbers and there were nests in the thatched roof, but they’d joked it would have made a better place to stay the night before, especially given the chicken incident. 

She was about to ask Mugen what the meant by ‘twenty minute head start,’ when she heard the clatter of geta on the tile,“Hang on a dang minute! Mugen! You can’t just leave me!” Fuu stumbled upright. She had the ropes off and made it to the window in time to see him vaulting over the rooftop, bounding away in that crazy way he had. She gripped the wooden edge of the window frame and shouted out into the starry night. “You jerk!!”

She sighed. 

Fine. Time to mount her own rescue.

Again.

#

She hated how easy Mugen made rooftop escapes look. The tiles were slippery! How did he ever bounce around on them in wooden shoes? She’d had to take her own geta off and slip them into her obi. But, she managed to lower herself quietly enough onto the second story balcony. From there it was relatively simple to sneak past the few people in the house, though her heart pounded in her chest the whole time.

Fuu paused when she saw the old woman, Yua, sitting by the sunken hearth, the irori. From behind the door, Fuu gave her a scowl… but she still sort of felt a twinge of sympathy for her plight. She was just a mom and she’d lost her whole family to a guy whose only advantage over them was the fact he was born into a powerful family… and who maybe was also really good at politics, but whatever. It was a tragedy. 

Fuu pouted. She’d really wanted to like this person. And Jin and Mugen were really good at murder. This should have worked out. They should have gotten paid, for once.

Fuu was just turning to slip out the back when she noticed Momo scampering into the living room trailing a string of dried persimmons. 

Right past the old lady.

Who instantly glanced in the direction of the kitchen and saw Fuu hiding behind the door.

_Damn it._

But Mugen wasn’t joking about leaving a trail of bodies. Even though Fuu cringed in expectation when the old lady shouted for her bodyguards, no one came running. There were a few shouts from upstairs, probably from the two remaining guards by the door to the storeroom she was still supposed to be locked in, which was enough to spur Fuu into action. She took off after Momo. The old woman couldn’t even get to her feet before Fuu was out the door and into the night.

#

The sharp, staccato sounds of steel clashing brought Fuu up short. She gripped the trunk of a maple tree, peering at the action happening in the clearing. Somehow an outbuilding was on fire, so Fuu could clearly see the economical strikes of Jin’s blade as it ran through his opponents with perfect precision. Mugen, meanwhile, was the opposite, his violence like an ecstatic dance of blood and gore.

Fuu watched, mesmerized for several seconds, but she could tell that Yua’s bodyguards were no match for either man. 

This fight would be over in no time. She’d better hurry to the mill or they’d leave her behind.

#

Fuu was sweaty and exhausted by the time she made it to the abandoned mill. Momo, at least, was tucked into his favorite spot between Fuu’s breasts, sound asleep. The string of dried persimmons were mostly eaten, though Fuu managed to save a few to share, provided everyone made it… no, that was a silly thought. Mugen and Jin always made it out alive.

Even so, Fuu caught her breath to see the faint lantern light inside the mill and to hear the sounds of two familiar voices, bickering.

With a smile, she ran towards them. If she was feeling generous she might even let them know she ‘borrowed’ a few hunks of jerky from the old woman’s kitchen. Though she might not. Jin was always so disapproving about that sort of thing. Even Mugen of all people would make noises about not being thieves.

Still, Fuu was pretty sure they’d thank her tomorrow when they were on the road again and desperately hungry.

Besides, it was chicken.

**Author's Note:**

> In the absence of any other clue, I gave you a "missing episode" for Samurai Champloo. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Like canon, the sumptuary laws are real and the fifth shogunate and his attempts to abscond with a merchant's overdressed wife are also historical facts.


End file.
